The Driver

The minds in this story aren’t real. They’re possible. The story takes place on a Tuesday afternoon in a world that's without time. This story is one of the many tragic events that took place, in telling it I hope to share just one of the many perspectives. If you wish to derive a lesson from the story, I’ll tell you now: There’s none.

I was driving Mr. ---- to the airport. The traffic was truly unreasonable. It appeared everyone in the city was leaving simultaneously. To make matters stranger, Mr. ---- hadn’t said a word since I picked him from his office. He sat in the backseat and fumbled around with his wallet, pulling out photos of his children- something he’d never done. You don’t seem to be aware of what’s going on, he said. What do you mean? Open your eyes, the entire city is evacuating. He looked out the tinted window into the sepia-colored world. We were stuck in traffic, engulfed in a sea of impatient sedans. Above, the sky was cloudless and filled with 100’s of planes. I’d never been on a plane, they’ve always struck me as strange: to be enclosed in a mechanical vessel, confronted with the fragility of life. I much preferred driving.

Where are you headed anyway?

Anywhere but here.

Do you have a ticket?

There’s a jet waiting on the strip. 

When we arrived at the airport, there was a flood of humans attempting to fit through a narrow entrance of sliding doors. Mr. ---- yelled out the window but his voice was muffled underneath the rising swell of panic. He then demanded I drive through the crowd. Are you fucking crazy? Why would I do that? Mr. ---- pulled out a gun and held it firmly against my neck. I closed my eyes and pressed my foot against the stiff pedal. It’s surprising how easily the bodies flattened under the SUV, you’d imagine there’d be more resistance. I was reminded of Idaho, back when I worked on the farms mowing overgrown wheat. 

We were driving inside the airport. People ran about in a daze, like sickly ghouls. There wasn’t an ounce of consciousness anywhere, it was complete and utter mayhem. Mr.---- told me to keep driving, and I did. I couldn’t count how many people I ran over. The gun never moved from my neck either. The city is going to fucking blow up - These people are as good as dead! Do you want to die along with them? I was pushing 80mph through the automatic walkways - What do you mean the city is going to blow up?

I had been driving Mr. ---- for 15 years. Our relationship had always been professional, I liked to keep it that way, yet sometimes he would ask me to pull over on the highway. He would stand at the ledge of a rail. Whatever he did, it was his choice, I thought. I didn’t want to interfere.

I drove straight through a massive panel of glass where a matte black jet was waiting to take off. People wandered helplessly on the landing strip as planes soared into the sky. They tried to latch onto the wheels in but were pulverized on impact. I slammed the breaks and Mr. ---- promptly got out of the car and ran to the jet. Two security guards were standing at the entrance, shooting anyone that walked near. Mr. ----, What about me? I have always been a loyal driver. He knew that. He told the guards to hold fire and let me on. As I stepped inside, the door shut and the pilot began driving towards the take-off strip. Inside was Mr.---- 's mistress who I’d come to know, distantly, after routinely taking her to and from any destination Mr.---- ordered. She got up and hugged him, laughing and kissing, so glad to be with her man. Mr.---- , where are your wife and children? He doesn’t need to worry about that, she said, this is about survival. Why did you bring this idiot with you? She asked. He’s been a good driver. Go get me a drink, she demanded, as she melted into Mr .----’s arms. I went to the back of the plane and prepared a cocktail. As the plane took off a massive bomb set off a chain reaction, as if the entire city were laced with explosives . Wow! She watched through the little jet window, in awe, as the city was devoured by flames.  

After a few drinks, Mr.---- pulled out his gun and began toying with it. You know this guy - pointing the tip of the barrel at me- ran over a crowd of people. A bunch of little kids in that crowd too. How does that make you feel? You told me to, sir. That’s how you know he’s a good little bitch. Does just as he says, no questions. They were going to be dead either way, like you said. Still, you ran them all over and I could have sworn I saw a smile on your face. You enjoyed it, didn’t you? I always knew there was something sick about you. The woman sat back grimacing. Disgusting, she said. Why’d you bring this piece of shit on the plane honey; why don’t you just shoot him right here? Look at him, he’s gone mute. I should shoot him, shouldn’t I? I think you’ve had too much to drink Mr.----. Don’t tell me how much I should drink, you bastard! As he shouted, he began foaming from his mouth. What the hell is going on? His throat was closing up, suffocating him from the inside. His mistress screamed as Mr. ---- fell onto the floor, his body convulsing. Mr.---- was right. I didn’t deserve to live. As he drowned in his saliva, I gently took the gun out of his hand. His mistress cried, begging for her life. I’ll do anything you want. Please, please, let me live. I ignored her and pushed the barrel down my throat. God, forgive me.